


Halfway

by sunaddicted



Series: A Journey [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Confusion, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Sexual Confusion, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 15:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13837974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: An autopsy conducted by razor-sharp pupils.





	Halfway

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel of "Empty Handed" but it can be read as a separate fic, if the other one is too graphic and painful for you; many of you asked about how Edward would react upon realising how Oswald feels about sex and the dynamic of their relationship: this is it, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> There should be a third part to this story but I don't know when I'll get around to writing it - nor can I promise a happy ending.

_Halfway_

When it came to matters of the heart, Edward knew that he wasn't particularly attentive; too focused on the novelty of having sex with a man - and Oswald being that man, with all their complicated history wedged between them like a third wheel - and not particularly empathetic, he hadn't immediately noticed that something was seriously wrong with their relationship. It had taken a while for his brain to stop shutting off whenever he kissed the other man - more than he would have liked to admit but still, Edward wasn't particularly surprised by his own obliviousness: had he been any good with feelings, he would have noticed much sooner the signs that Oswald loved him.

Thinking about it years later, it was easy enough for Edward to see what he had missed: the enamoured and longing glances; the rosy cheeks; the almost panicked breaths puffing over his lips whenever he lost his courage and couldn't say a word.

Edward wasn't a stupid man - if one ignored his brief regression after being defrosted: he was a bastard, a psychopath, an ass, a sadist. And he was blind - emotionally speaking (no matter all the other Rogues' teasing, his eyesight wasn't that bad), which was why Edward had realised only the previous evening that Oswald hated the sex.

Or didn't particularly enjoy it, at least.

His first reaction had been one of surprise: how was it possible that Oswald didn't like sex? Edward was in no way obsessed with it but he definitely enjoyed it - enjoyed the closeness and the sort of intimacy that he would only be able to share with someone he truly loved, needing trust in order to bare himself in such a way: putting on display his marked skin, every white line and puckered up scar a tale of a loveless and painful childhood.

Then, Edward had started worrying that maybe he was doing something wrong; he wasn't an expert when it came to sex between men - he was no expert in general: he only had had two partners before Oswald after all, both female and before they had died, there hadn't been that many occasions to fall in bed together - and he wasn't ready to rule out that he might not know how to bring pleasure to the other man.

But why hadn't Oswald spoken up?

Maybe Oswald had less experience than what Edward had presumed and didn't know how to voice what he was feeling? They had clashed together without talking about it first and the following times neither of them had brought out the topic - but they clearly needed to and if Oswald was too scared to do so, Edward had to do it before whatever unspoken issue there was between them could destroy their relationship.

It was a fragile thing, tentatively built on the ashes of what they once had had; it wasn't the same - it would never be, neither of them had short memories when it came to remembering past betrayals - but it was good.

Or so he had thought before the subtle way Oswald had flinched away from him when he had tried to caress his way down his stomach, fingers fluttering over a trail of baby-fine dark hair.

Edward pursed his lips and tapped his fingers over the book in front of him in a restless rhythm; he found research comforting, whenever he felt lost or was faced with a problem he didn't know the answer to.  
  
If asexuality could even be defined as a problem.

He had to admit that his brain had a hard time wrapping itself around the foreign concept, it left Edward perplexed and the books he had consulted hadn't spent more than a few sentences on the topic.

Really, the best solution would be to sit down with Oswald and directly ask the man how his body and mind responded to sex: he didn't care about generic knowledge, he wanted to know how his partner felt so that he could do something.

Anything.

Part of him - the darkest and most cruel nook of his psyche where the Riddler personality festered whenever he wasn't in control - wasn't thrilled at the idea of having to give up sex, but he hated more knowing that he had been forcing himself upon the man he loved since the start of their relationship.

Unknowingly so, but still..

Was it too late?

Had he already hurt Oswald too much?

Edward sighed and picked the book up; he didn't check it out - he was a criminal, for God's sake - and scoffed at Gotham's library completely lacking security: had he wanted to do so, Edward could have emptied the building out, one book after another, without the keepers being aware of it. Spending so much time in the public library had brought back memories of his university days and Edward felt a nervous kind of energy frizzling under his skin: he never enjoyed remembering the times before discovering who he really was, even if his university years had been rather peaceful ones.

It wasn't a good mindset to confront Oswald, he knew that, but he also was impatient to fix the unhealthy dynamic that had established itself between them.

Edward was no abuser.

He wasn't his father.

The man had never gone past beating and insulting him, but his cruelty still had shaped Edward in the fractured and insecure man that he was nowadays: the last thing he wanted, it was to make Oswald feel like he had whenever his father had towered over him, drunk and angry and with a fist angrily raised.

Instead of driving to the Manor - it wasn't home, not yet: they were taking it slow, after years of living alone they had established their own rhythms and habits and changing them would take some time - and waiting for his partner to come back from work, Edward decided that confronting Oswald at the Lounge would be the better course of action; he hoped that being on Oswald's turf, the symbolic centre of his power, it would help the man to feel more confident and less like Edward was cornering him.

He should have bought flowers.

Oswald liked romantic and spontaneous gestures like that; his crystal clear blue eyes filled with childlike wonder; the most adorable smile tugged up the corners of his lips that lately were twisted in a frown more often than not.

But it was already getting late and Edward didn't want to postpone that talk for another day, no matter how much more appealing cuddling in front of the t.v. after dinner sounded.

Edward was let inside the Lounge with an ease that he still found unsettling, the memory of mischievously sneaking into Oswald's club still fresh in his mind; he made his way to the other man's office, shoulders hunched down a little under the invisible weight of the Penguin's presence.

A sharp knock.

A brief pause.

A sharp knock.

Nothing fancy but it did its job to make sure that Oswald immediately knew who it was on the other side of the door and, if he still had business associates over, give him the opportunity to decide whether he wanted Edward to enter or to stay out for what was left of the meeting.

Apparently, Oswald was alone with his paperwork and tea to keep him company because he was invited inside just a handful of seconds after the second rap of his knuckles against the door "Am I disturbing you?"

"No, but your visit is quite unexpected"

Sitting in his chair, shirt buttoned up and collar severely tightened by his tie, Oswald looked prim and collected: not even a single hair was out of place and those irises had a calculating and cold edge to them that made Edward feel as if his partner was dissecting him alive.

An autopsy conducted by razor-sharp pupils.

Edward sat in the visitor's chair and put the book on the desk; he didn't know whether as a shield or an offering or an explanation - probably as a mix of the three "We need to talk" from Edward's limited experience and knowledge, those words should have made Oswald at least look apprehensive.

"What about?"

There was nothing for Edward to read on the other man's face, though: Oswald's features were a mask of polite interest, cold and blank.

Edward had miscalculated once again: he shouldn't have faced Oswald when he was fully drowning in his Penguin persona "Us"

Was that a flicker of concern?

Oswald leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on his lap after waving one in the air in a gesture that encouraged his partner to continue with whatever he had to say "What's the problem?" Because it could only be a problem if Edward had uncharacteristically come to visit him at the Lounge while he was working - especially without any Riddler's business to conduct.

A lump seemed to have lodged in his throat and Oswald wished he could have reached out and picked up his cup of tea without giving his nerves away; he was sure that if he took his hands off of his lap, his fingers would tremble rather pathetically. He had to keep his cool.

It wasn't as if he hadn't been expecting that exact moment to come. To be honest, though, Oswald had hoped he would have more time with Edward.

"You" Edward shook his head as soon as the word left his mouth "Well, not really you. But the fact that you didn't tell me you don't like sex - that's the problem" great - hours spent writing a whole speech in his mind and when it was time to say it out aloud, all that he could manage was a chaotic and awkward jumble of words "Am I doing something wrong?"

Oswald hadn't quite expected that last question "I don't think so"

"I was.. your first sexual partner"

A blush crept its way to the surface of Oswald's cheeks: it was humiliating, hearing it said out aloud - it made him feel even more of a freak. Oswald shrugged, in an attempt at hiding what he was really feeling "You were"

"Is that because you've never had the chance or because you never felt sexual attraction to anyone ever?" Edward inquired bluntly: he needed answers, so that he could start thinking about how to proceed if Oswald really was asexual.

Oswald wanted to answer that he didn't know and buy time for himself to enjoy a few more weeks with Edward, but it wouldn't have been fair to the other man: he had to give Edward the chance to decide whether he wanted to stay or to leave - he'd already tried once to keep him trapped with force and it had spectacularly backfired on him "The second, I suppose"

"You should have told me"

"Told you what?" A self-deprecating and bitter laugh tumbled down Oswald's lips, hissing past his clenched teeth "How could have I possibly told you about something I'm not even sure about?"

"We could have figured it out together" - _as couples do_ stayed trapped in Edward's throat, a lump that no amount of swallowing could dislodge. He took a deep breath - as deep as he could, anyway - and he pushed the book a little closer to Oswald "I did some research" he offered, shrugging "There really isn't much information around but you might find this read interesting" Edward looked up at the other man, heart beating too quickly amidst his lungs "And we can talk after you've read it"

"That's cruel of you"

Edward blinked: cruel? "How so?"

"You should break up with me now, not leave me hanging" Oswald leaned over and picked the book up, fingers running over the rough and fraying cover; despite its conditions, the book seemed to have been printed recently: Oswald could only imagine what kind of conversion therapies were written in there "Whatever it's written in here, it's unlikely that my stance on sex will change"

"I don't want to break up with you" Edward stood and rounded the desk with a few long strides, bending down to tentatively bring their faces close - did Oswald like when he kissed him or did he find that repulsive too? Had he ever done something right? - and his fingers slipped in Oswald's hair in a silent plead to keep still "Just read it, please, and call me when you're done"

When Edward left after a lingering kiss to his forehead, Oswald hurled the book to the other side of the room as tears burned hot behind his lowered eyelids: heartbreak would never feel any less painful, no matter how many times he went through it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ♡


End file.
